Jamona Week
by rucabear
Summary: He can't help it. When she speaks Spanish, it drives him insane in the worst way possible. And all he can do his write in his dia- journal about it. It's a journal. Not a diary. / rated T for teenage boy thoughts; excessive mentioning of the word 'boner' / if it wasn't already obvious by the title, this is a Jamona fic
1. Jamona Monday

Dear Diary- scratch that- Journal,

Okay, so I don't know what's been going on, but something's wrong. Stuff between Ramona and I has been… weird.

Maybe it's because Lola dumped me a week ago or because Popko hasn't stopped talking Ramona up all summer, but I suddenly don't see her as a sister anymore. Don't get me wrong, I still love her and care about her and get annoyed when she takes too long in the bathroom, but it's just that now, when she comes out of the bathroom with just a towel on and her hair all wet with water dripping down her shoulders, I can't help but stare. Something's wrong, right? Doesn't that sound wrong?

It hasn't been that bad or that often, to be honest. I can blame the staring on the fact that she's a girl and I'm a boy and we're living together, so it's kind of inevitable. She's still Ramona, so I just ignore those random hormone-fueled moments as well as I would ignore any other cute girl in nothing but a towel (not well, but I manage) and carry on with my day.

No, the real problem is much worse and much weirder. You see, whenever she-

Wait. Here she comes. Shh.

"Hey, Jackson." Her smile is bright, but her eyes are distracted. She's looking for something. "Have you seen my earbuds?"

"Uhh, yeah. One second."

I remember Max using them the other day, if only I could remember-

"Oh, yeah. Here they are."

She accepts the pink earbuds quickly, her hand brushing mine for a millisecond before she's out the door.

" _Gracias_ ," she calls over her shoulder as she flounces into the hall.

See. That. That right there is the problem. Every time she speaks Spanish, my heart starts racing and my palms get sweaty and it's such a fucking turn on. And she does it all the time. You'd be surprised how often that girl can switch between languages in one sentence. You'd be even more surprised how hard I can get from that one sentence. It's honestly kind of embarrassing how affected I am by it. I don't even understand Spanish, so I don't get why it's so… stimulating, for lack of a better word.

Ugh. This is weird. That was weird. I should stop writing. I shouldn't be writing these thoughts down. But I need to tell someone. I can't tell Max, because, well, duh: he's just a kid. I'm not going to tell my kid brother about this stuff. I can't tell my mom because she's my mom and I definitely can't tell her mom. Aunt Stephanie is usually cool about this sort of stuff, but I still feel like it'd be really awkward. Same goes for Matt or Steve. My summer school friends would just tease me about it and so would Jimmy, come to think of it. Popko is 100% out of the question and Fernando is 200% out of the question; they would beat me for days. The only person left is Lola, but she's my ex-girlfriend and Ramona's best friend. Not only that, but while we were dating, she gave me a super big talk about how not cool it is to fetishize someone's race or ethnicity after I made some stupid comment. I don't know if language falls under that category too, but I'd rather not risk it. I have to let these thoughts out somehow, no matter how lame keeping a journal might be.

I think I'm going to go insane if I have to keep living with her like this. At first, I thought I would hate her moving in because she's so annoying, but now the real problem is finding new and creative ways to hide mid-conversation boners. What has my life become?

I have to go. Ramona's calling me downsta- holy shit what was that word and why does it sound so hot when she says it?

" _Apúrate_!"

"I'm coming!"

Truer words have never been spoken. Get it? Never mind. Now is not the time for puns; I need to find some looser pants.

Sincerely,

Jackson Fuller

* * *

 **I should be working on _Secretly Yours_ or _The Finer The Line_ , but I just binge-watched Fuller House and this idea was bouncing around in my head. There will never be any blatant sex or anything of that nature- are you kidding me? They're fourteen or something- but Jackson will be very open about how Spanish makes him feel, if you get my drift.**

 **There should be five or six chapters, one uploaded each day, so I'm going to officially call this Jamona Monday.**

 **ALSO PLEASE TAKE THE POLL ON MY PROFILE PAGE!**

 **Love, Ru**


	2. Jamona Tuesday

Dear Diary- dang it- Journal,

It's the middle of the night and I am freaking out. I just had a dream about Ramona and not just any kind of dream; it was one of _those_ dreams. The ones where you wake up sweaty and disgusted and ridiculously turned on. Normally these dreams are about pretty girls doing nasty things in very little clothes. This dream, however, featured a fully-clothed Ramona just sitting on the couch talking. It would have been the most harmless, innocent dream if she hadn't been speaking in Spanish.

Now I'm sitting in bed with my lamp on the lowest setting so that I don't wake up Max while I try to decide whether or not I should try to take a stealthy cold shower or hide in the bathroom to 'work it out,' if you know what I mean. But I just know that if I try to 'work it out,' I'll just end up thinking about her and what she said in the dream. Looking back, I don't think it was actually Spanish, but a whole bunch of gibberish my subconscious came up with that my dreamself thought was Spanish. It doesn't really matter because the end result is the same: I'm hopelessly unhappy and helplessly hard.

Maybe I could- I'm going to try to take a cold shower. Wish me luck.

* * *

Oh. My. Lanta.

I would summarize what just happened, but since the events keep replaying in my head like an awful nightmare, I might as well just write it down word for word.

So as I was getting out of the shower, problem solved and thoughts successfully diverted, who should knock on my door but the one and only Ramona.

"Jackson, is that you?" her groggy voice asked as I shut off the water.

"Um, uh, yeah," I answered as I quickly wrapped my lower body in a towel the way Fernando taught me to (don't ask). "One second."

Making my way over to the door, I opened it to see Ramona halfway through a yawn and struggling to keep her eyes open. I could feel my own eyes bulging out of my head and it was definitely not because of her morning breath.

Instead of her usual long-sleeved, flannel pajamas, Ramona was wearing a tank top and shorts that showed wear more skin than usual. Why tonight, of all nights, did she decide to not wear her cozy clothes? Why tonight? Why me?

"What's the matter?" she slurred out. "Why are you taking a shower so late?"

I struggled to maintain eye contact with her, but she kept stretching her back in every which direction. I didn't know how much longer I could take it.

"I had a nightmare," I answered, looking pointedly at the ceiling when her tank top slipped dangerously low.

As I sit in bed now, I realize that that outfit was definitely not the most scandalous thing I have ever seen Ramona in. I've watched her dance in recital costumes, gone with her to the beach, seen her in a towel. I shouldn't have freaked out as much as I did, but I think it was a combination of the dream, the clothes, and the fact that I was wearing only a towel that made the situation seem much worse than it was.

Anyway, when Ramona looked up at me with her brown eyes full of concern and sisterly devotion, I immediately felt guilty for all the thoughts running through my head and the cold shower and the dream and all the incidents before that.

Reaching out to place a caring hand on my shoulder, she asked, "Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?"

I tried to answer as well as fight of the urge to shrug her hand off of my shoulder before she felt my quickening heartbeat.

"Nah, it's cool. I just needed to cool off."

Surprised at myself for sounding so chill, I mentally patted myself on the back. Thankfully, Ramona withdrew her hand and took a step back.

"Okay. Well, you know where I live if you need anything," she joked as she headed to her room across the hall. " _Buenas noches. Duermes con los angelitos._ "

So that brings you up to date.

Now I'm sitting in bed, right back to square one: hopelessly unhappy and helplessly hard. What is my life?

I think Max is waking up. I have to pretend I'm asleep and not ridiculously turned on right now.

Sincerely,

Jackson Fuller

* * *

 **I'm not surprised by the low turnout because this fandom is so tiny. I am surprised about the stark contrast between reads and reviews. Not cool, guys. I want to know what y'all think, regardless of whether or not you're reading this five years after it's been published.**

 **I'M BEGGING YOU TO TAKE THE POLL ON MY PAGE!**

 **I hope you've enjoyed Jamona Tuesday.**

 **Love, Ru**


	3. Jamona Wednesday

Dear Dia- shoot- Journal,

Help help help help.

Okay, so at breakfast, Ramona was complaining about Popko being selfish- again- and she kept slipping into Spanish. Everyone else ignored it, but you know how I am about that. I almost bent my spoon I was gripping it so hard.

In a moment of weakness, I turned to her and told her to shut up.

Now, if you know Ramona- which you don't because you're a book- she does not like being told to shut up. I remember the fear that immediately struck me when she looked at me with murder in her eyes. Across the table, Mom was glaring at me like I was totally about to get it and Max had a look on his face that very clearly said 'I'm going to miss you, brother.'

Before I knew it, I was being chased through the house by a woman scorned. If that isn't already awful, she was yelling at me _in Spanish_. Why does the universe hate me?

By some miracle, I made it to my room in enough time to slam and lock the door. Now ten minutes later, she is still there, yelling at me in the hottest language known to man while I try to write in complete sentences without exploding. It's not working.

Holy fuck, I'm going to die. I'm going to die here at my desk, writing in a stupid journal about my stupid hard-on that I got from a stupid girl who speaks stupid Spanish. Is this seriously my life?

"Stop it, Ramona!" I yell at the door.

There's no point. It's getting worse. Now she has a deep accent and it is sooo hot. I could listen to that accent forever it wasn't coming from her. Or if she wasn't about to kill me. Wait, was that- did she just… I'm going to hell for thinking this but:

I really like it when she says my name in that accent.

Maybe I could 'work it out' before Mom comes up here and forces us to hug it out. Oh no. That cannot happen. I have to go.

Sincerely,

Jackson Fuller

* * *

 **This one's short, but so is the feedback I get. Jk, jk, I appreciate every single review I get, including the flames. Please continue to let me know what you think.**

 **SERIOUSLY, DUDES! TAKE THE POLL ON MY PROFILE PAGE! It really doesn't matter whether or not you're in the fandom.**

 **This has been... Jamona Wednesday.**

 **Love, Ru**


	4. Jamona Thursday

Dear Journal (I got it right this time),

I think she's doing it on purpose. Maybe it's because I'm noticing it more or because I am ridiculously horny 24/7 nowadays, but Ramona's been speaking Spanish much more often. Especially around me.

Just the other day, we were in the kitchen. She was making cereal and I was on my phone. I wasn't paying attention, so you can imagine how much it threw me off guard when she turned to me and said, " _Dame la leche_."

My brain stopped working as I slipped into the now very familiar "shut up she's speaking Spanish," mode. I imagine I looked pretty brain dead from her point of view as I just stared at her mouth, waiting for the next few words of the romance language to slip out.

" _Dame la leche_ ," she insisted, gesturing to the milk carton by my elbow on the island. I knew what she meant and she knew I knew what she meant, which was why she didn't repeat herself in English. Instead, she just watched me as I watched her lips wrap around the syllables and taste every sound.

I want to die. I sound like some sappy poet. And I'm horny. This sucks.

She smirked at me- I know it was a smirk because I was watching her mouth so closely- and repeated more slowly, " _Dame la leche, por favor._ "

I was torn between fleeing the scene and 'relieving' myself as soon as possible or staying to listen to her speak Spanish forever. Both were very appealing choices. I didn't know how I would ever choose. Thank goodness I didn't have to because she reached over and grabbed the milk herself, coming very close to my face with her own. Just like that, the moment was gone as if it had never happened. She went back to making cereal, pouring in the milk that she had to grab herself. The only proof that there even was a moment was the smirk still etched in her face.

But was there even a moment? Or am I making this all up? It was all over so fast. I wouldn't think twice about it if it were an isolated event, but it wasn't. Ever since that morning in the kitchen- which I've begun referring to in my head as the Milk Incident- Ramona's been making a point to look me in the eye when she speaks Spanish. Which is all the damn time now, as I explained before.

One time, while we were crossing on the stairs, she bumped into me. In the split second that our bodies were pressed against each other, she whispered in my ear, " _Perdon_."

And then she was gone. And then I was hard.

Another time she had her earbuds in and she was bobbing her head along to the music in that dorky way that she does when she started singing. It wasn't the singing itself that got to me. Vocally, Ramona isn't good or bad. She's an average singer with an average range who isn't awful to listen to but also won't be winning any singing competitions anytime soon. But holy fuck, she was singing in Spanish.

I was just about gone right there. I ran up to my room so fast, it felt like I teleported. Locking the door, I got it over with, but unlike usually, it took forever. I couldn't seem to get off. I eventually gave up and went to take a cold shower when I saw Ramona in the hallway. Her earbuds were still in, but thankfully she was singing along to some generic pop song instead of anything in Spanish. Maybe the universe has mercy after all.

Turns out it doesn't, because a series of events occurred afterward that I will never be able to prove but will also never stop replaying in my head.

In the split second before she disappeared into her room, Ramona looked over her shoulder, glanced down at the tent in my jeans, sucked in her bottom lip, and whispered, " _Damn, Papí. Dame más gasolina._ "

I don't know what she said, why she said it, what it means, or whether or not she was joking. All I know is that I came in my pants.

I hope to God that no one ever finds this journal because I hate myself even more every time I read that sentence. My life is a flaming hot mess on wheels. I'm sexually attracted to the language that my mom's friend's daughter/my housemate speaks and it has gotten to the point where I can get off on her speaking alone. That shouldn't even be possible. Why is that possible? Of all the people to be the exception to that rule, why did it have to be me?

As I am writing to you now, I am sitting on the couch watching Tommy play with Ramona. She's cooing to him in Spanish and I'm trying to act as calm as possible, even though everything inside of me wants to shove her up against a wall and let out all of my frustration.

Woah.

Where did that come from? That was totally out of left field. I think I need a water break. Brb.

* * *

I'm back and a lot has happened, so take a seat.

Okay, so while I was in the kitchen pouring water, Ramona came in behind me and said, " _Necesitamos a hablar_."

I almost dropped my glass, but I shakily placed it down on the counter and turned around. I stealthily used you, my diary- damn it- journal, to block my boner and asked, "What?"

"We need to talk," she reiterated in English.

My brain immediately jumped to breakup before I reminded myself that Ramona and I aren't even dating. Plus, she's dating Popko.

"Uh, yeah? What about?"

"You've been acting super weird ever since you told me to shut up at breakfast," she started, rubbing her arm insecurely.

"I said I was sorry for that."

"Why do you keep avoiding me?" she asked. "Is it because I saw your erection that one time? I was totally joking. I get that that happens sometimes."

I could feel my face heating up. _No, it wasn't because you saw my boner,_ I wanted to say. _It's because immediately after I came in my pants. I'm also insanely attracted to you whenever you speak Spanish to the point where I lose most of my self-restraint._

I couldn't say that though, so I settled for, "It's whatever."

She frowned.

"Jackson, I want you to be honest with me. I miss when we were friends."

"We are friends."

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

" _Por favor, Jackson_."

A shiver ran down my back and my nostrils flared. I don't know what expression I was making, but whatever it was, was telling. I could see in her eyes a weird sort of understanding that scared the shit out of me.

"Gotta go. Bye," I said quickly as I rushed out of the kitchen to write this all down.

So now here I am, scared out of my mind that Ramona's figured out my sick fantasies and will now hate me forever. I wish you could talk so you could tell me I'm being stupid and overanalyzing this like a girl. It's whatever. Whatever.

Not really because I'm super hard and all I can think about is my mom's friend's daughter/my housemate.

Sincerely,

Jackson Fuller

* * *

 **It's... drum roll, please... JAMONA THURSDAY! Only one more day until the end of the series to end all series. I'll be uploading sometime in the afternoon, so stay tuned. Review with your favorite fandom.**

 **I WOULD REALLY, REALLY LOVE IT IF YOU TOOK THE POLL ON MY PROFILE PAGE!**

 **Love, Ru**


	5. Jamona Friday

Dear Diary (I'm not going to fight it anymore. Let's face it- you're not a journal; you're a diary),

It's been a long night. I'm exhausted, but I have to get all this off my chest first.

Tomorrow we're leaving for Japan for Steve's wedding. The house has been in a flurry of packing all day, but I finished packing really fast. I ended up just watching the chaos around me. I was grateful when the day finally ended. At least, I thought it ended. I had just started nodding off when a hand shaking my shoulder woke me up.

It was Ramona and she looked really sad. She was also wearing those stupidly small pajamas from before, but I just focused on the look on her face.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I sat up in bed.

She shook her head and crawled under the covers next to me. Alarm bells were ringing in my head as her warm body slid in next to mine. If she noticed how much I was freaking out, she didn't say anything and just rested her head on my shoulder.

"I think I have to break up with Popko," she sighed. As the breath left her, the rest of her body seemed to sag inward and deflate.

"Why?" I asked, willing my voice not to crack under stress. She was really close.

She dropped her hand in my lap. Shifting slightly away from her hand, I looked at the paper clenched in her fingers. It was a birthday card, wishing her a happy eightieth birthday. My confusion distracted me from her close proximity as I tried to understand what was going on. Stuff between us has gotten too weird lately. I don't understand her anymore.

"Read it," she urged me.

I gently grabbed the 80th birthday card from her hand and read the cheesy poem inside.

"Popko wrote this?" I asked, even though it was obvious Popko wrote it.

"It's just not working out," she cried, turning her face into my shoulder. I cast a nervous glance over to Max's bed, praying that she wouldn't wake him up. "He's so selfish. I don't like spending time with him. I don't like talking about him. What's the point of a boyfriend if the only reason you can tolerate him is that he's hot enough?"

I felt resentful for a second, but I'm going to chalk it up to me being jealous that she's dating someone and I'm not. I still miss Lola. I'm not jealous of Popko. Especially not now that she's thinking of ending things with him.

"You deserve a guy who would spend all of the time apart missing you, not trying to forget you with other girls," I told her.

"Thanks," she answered, her tears starting to slow down. "I just can't believe he would say that. Who thinks like that?"

"Him, apparently," I said, but then I noticed that she was about to start crying again so I quickly changed the subject. "But maybe it was just a funny rhyme. He might not mean it."

She nodded, wrapping a skinny arm around my waist in a side hug. I tentatively draped my arm over her shoulders, chanting " _like a sister, like a sister, like a sister_ " over and over again in my head. I tried to remind myself of the countless times I had hugged Ramona and been this close to her. I should not have been freaking out. That doesn't change the fact that I kept freaking out.

"Yeah, maybe," she mumbled into my collarbone through my T-shirt. I spike of heat shot straight down my spine to my… well, y'know… I was worried that she could hear my heartbeat, but her next words gave me more reason to worry than any other words have before.

" _Yo se._ "

I felt kind of like I was choking but, like, mentally. I also felt like I was on fire and that my blood was literally boiling in my veins. I also felt like a coke bottle that someone had just dropped a Mentos into. I was feeling a lot of things.

"I know about your thing with Spanish," she repeated in English. The blood drained out of my face and my heart plummeted out of my chest. She yawned as if she hadn't just given me a mini heart attack. "I'm cool with it, I guess."

She slid down so that she wasn't sitting up anymore and laid down in my bed. Her cheek rested on my thigh, so I quickly slid down next to her. I don't want her anywhere near _that_ area because I _really_ want her _everywhere_ near that area. That doesn't make any sense. Never mind.

" _Dulces sueños. Te quiero._ "

And then she was asleep. And then I was hard.

So now, I'm sitting at my desk, reconsidering my entire life. Where are all of these sudden feelings coming from? I mean, I've never looked at Ramona this way before, but she's always spoken Spanish. Maybe it's because I'm not dating Lola anymore. Or maybe it's because of that conversation I had with Popko.

* * *

 _I pulled Popko aside to ask him why Ramona was shouting angrily in Spanish. I wasn't bothered by it then. Neither was he. He actually looked pretty pleased with himself._

" _Dude, I gave her a hickey," Popko laughed._

" _You what?!" I exclaimed before he quickly shushed me._

" _I couldn't help it. She's so delicious."_

 _I cringed at the smirk on his face._

" _And don't be so loud!" he stage-whispered. "If she remembers I'm here, she'll come back to chew me out!"_

 _I looked over at Ramona who was ranting loudly and speaking faster than I ever thought was possible. She was shaking her fist at the sky, so I asked Popko who she was yelling at if it wasn't at him._

" _I don't know, man," he answered, laughing again. "Sometimes when she gets angry, she starts yelling at the sky or something. I don't really care because 1) at least she's not yelling at me and 2) she's sexy when she speaks Spanish."_

" _I don't think that's cool, man," I told him, remembering that lecture Lola gave me._

 _He shrugged. "Who cares if it's cool as long as it's hot?"_

He chuckled at his own wordplay, but I felt really awkward. Popko and I used to be best friends and he used to talk like this all the time. Now that he's started dating Ramona, though, we sort of drifted apart and his talk makes me uncomfortable.

 _He must have spoken too loud, because Ramona suddenly rounded on him._

"¡Esto es tu culpa! Si no fueras tan idiota, yo no estaría en este lío. No puedo creer esto! No te rías, pendejo. Estoy enojado contigo."

 _Popko just grinned and Ramona continued to rant angrily. That's when I started to understand this from his perspective because, in that moment, I thought a thought I never thought I'd think: damn, that's hot._

* * *

For a while, I forgot about that conversation with Popko, but I started to notice Ramona's Spanish more and more. Now I'm here, unable to deny the things that I feel. I don't know what to do. What does this mean? Am I-

* * *

"Jackson?"

He turned away from the desk and quickly closed the book, being careful to hide it behind himself as he turned to face her. Ramona was slowly sitting up in his bed. His heart jumped into his throat as he took in the sight of her wrapped in his sheets with her brown hair splayed all over his pillow. Her eyes were kind of puffy from crying earlier, but he didn't notice.

"Y-yeah?"

She pulled back the sheets next to her and patted the space next to her.

" _Regresa a la cama_ ," she begged, a pitiful pout on her face. That's how he knew she was still half-asleep: Ramona Gibbler does not beg and she does not pout. Not for him, anyway.

"S-sure. One sec," he said, turning to scribble something in his jour- diary before tucking it away in a drawer and climbing into bed next to Ramona. She turned away from him and wrapped his arms around her body so that his front was curled around her back. She wiggled against him and fell asleep. He choked out, "Goodnight, Ramona."

" _Buenas noches,_ " she mumbled before she started to lightly snore.

Worrier that he is, Jackson could not stop deliberating over how confused Max would in the morning and if this basically constitutes as cheating since she technically hadn't broken up with Popko yet, but most of all he was worried about what she would say when she woke up to his morning wood pressing into her back. It took him a little while to fall asleep as well, all things running through his head considered, but he eventually drifted off beside her.

In his diary, the last line of ink he wrote had finally dried on the page.

* * *

Send help: I'm trapped in a bed with a cute Latina and ridiculously turned on right now.

Sincerely,

Jackson Fuller

* * *

 **Yay! Jamona Friday, the end of the weeklong Jamona series, has finally arrived. What do you think? How did I do? Review with your opinion and also your favorite fandom (other than Fuller House).**

 **I HAVE A POLL ON MY PAGE TO DETERMINE IF "JAMONA SUNDAY: THE EPILOGUE" SHOULD BE A THING. PLEASE CHECK IT OUT!**

 **Love, Ru**


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